White Bucket in the Cherry Grove

Wishes for momma

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I have lost my bucket in the cherry trees, once filled with apples for horses and riddled with holes, I peek and poke around the bend, lay

down my bicycle and mark time because mother is ground zero, the tenderest of all my spots, source of feeling nothing and feeling everything,

a worm ground to applesauce, very soon I will come home and be your wife, we will discuss dinner, glide about the kitchen, share

words written and words read, then watch a silly show, and fall asleep partway through, and that will be our little life, winds will blow through

the cottage and I’ll ask what are the hinterlands, but you’ll be swallowed in a book, you look so handsome while reading, I could love

all the characters you love and create, I could love anything you make with your hands, waxen or wooden, I could love the world the way you

love the world, and give you life, find a bucket in a stand of cherry trees by a bicycle in messy grass, heft a coiled hose to the spigot, turn it on

then run from the sprinkler, laughing, momma, do you know I love you? Do you know I always loved you? Not one second went